


Club Miraculous

by Saphie3243



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Club AU, Gen, because im trash, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphie3243/pseuds/Saphie3243
Summary: What happens when Marinette's aunt, Tikki, forces her to fill in for one her dancers at her and her husband's (Plagg's) night club? And who is the mysterious leather clad dancer? And why does he look like super model Adrien Agreste - Mari's favorite customer at work and the only one she can't talk to? And why can't Mari acknowledge that despite the fact that I (the author) expressly state it. Is teen for language and sexual themes. Inappropriate dancing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trash so here's a double coffee shop and club au. Holla.

Marinette knew she’d regret volunteering to help Tikki out at her night club. She just knew it. Sure, she needed the money, and sure, she was more than happy to spend at least some part of her week being paid to work with fabric. Especially since her classes this semester were all, unfortunately, fashion-business classes. And the history of fashion, and her language requirement. (Finally taking the plunge to learn Chinese) And working at Starbucks to help make rent wasn’t exactly her dream job… even if it was right across from the Agreste headquarters.

So when her Aunt Tikki called her up and offered her 60 euro a week to fix the dancer’s outfits at her and husband’s night club, of course she said yes. And even when she got there and learned that they were all corsets and skin tight body suits and pearl bikinis, she wasn’t all that disheartened. Because hey! So what if she’s gluing sequins to panties, at least she’s doing something.

But that faithful Saturday night she had gotten a call about a tear and was asked to rush in. Mind you, Marinette only ever worked during the day or early weekday evenings, as there wasn’t much need for her to fix costumes when girls (and a few guys) needed to be _in_ them. But whatever, Mari ran over to assist her Aunt.

And was then – she’s still not sure how this happened- forced into a polka dot corset, back ruffled panties, and red polka dot thigh highs, and thrust onto the stage to fill in.

Allow me to explain. One of the dancers got sick, which normally wouldn’t be a problem, except that apparently she took all of the dancers who didn’t show up that night out for the same sushi that got her sick. Luckily, they still had some, but she was looking at a solid 45 minutes of a female-dancer free stage. And sure- they weren’t essential- but they really set the mood.

So she called up Mari, tricked her to showing, and then man-handled her into a costume. Some sweet words of encouragement, not so subtle begging, and a red domino mask to hide her identity, and Tikki successfully got Mari on stage.

“But I don’t know how to dance!” she asked, being shoved out and almost tripping in her far too tall heels.

“You are 21 and look like a polka dotted sex god! Shake the ass that I know you got from my side of the family and you’ll be fine!”

Mari looked out at the audience, most of whom weren’t looking back. That was a comfort. Seriously, how did this happen what was she going to do?

“Ladybug! Don’t worry about it! Just do what I do!” a male voice said as he bounced across the stage. He was wearing a leather cat suit, matching ears, and a tail. There was even a little bell on his zipper. It took Mari all of 5 milliseconds to recognize that as the costume she fixed almost every week. While she was a little angry at the dancer for always ruining her work, she did take his advice, mostly because it wouldn’t do to continue to stand there like an idiot.

And so she copied him, moving and swaying as he did. The more she moved, the more she felt the stage fright melt away, and the more into the beat she got. The song was a good one, perfect to dance to, it entranced you to move with it. And no one knew it was her. And her life was really stressful. Why not just dance it off?

So dance she did, even breaking off from what the cat guy was doing and getting into all on her own. The cat guy seemed a little relieved to see his stage partner for the evening relaxing into it, so he let himself step it up.

He started break dancing.

Mari- no, Ladybug, saw the cat step up his dance, and heard the audience cheer. He was doing flips and kicks and a whole lot of other stuff she wasn’t comfortable doing in four-inch heels. _Show off_. But then she saw something sitting on the DJ’s table.

“Hey!” she said to herself. After one particularly cool trick from her partner, and an audience cheer, she put up a finger and shouted “Alright! Want to see something cool?” Trying to pump up the crowd. A couple shouted back, and she smiled and swiped a yoyo from the pile of light up gear on the DJ table.

It really was a dumb hobby that she got into in high school, and she never really admitted to anyone that she had spent hours and hours in her room when she was stuck on a design practicing yo-yo tricks.

But hey, it looked damn cool under the lights.

She had a lot of fun that night.

When her set was over, she was sorry to leave the stage. Her partner came over and congratulated her.

“I was a little worried, my lady, when Plagg told me his niece would fill in tonight. For that I humbly apologize,” he took an overly deep bow and Mari laughed a little.

“Oh why thank you, ah what’s your name?”

“Chat Noir, at your service.”

 “Chat,” she shook his hand.

“Do you think you’ll come back?”

“We’ll see if Tikki and Plagg will have me. It was more fun than I expected, that’s for sure,” she pondered, smiling in spite of herself. Her response was gifted with a toothy grin that lit up the entire god damn room.

Too bad she didn’t see it.

 Chat collected himself, reducing his smile to a more acceptable level, though he still looked far too excited, before she brought her line of sight back down to his face.

“I’m glad to hear it, do you know what you want to call yourself?” he asked.

“Ladybug works, I think,” she said, a little flirtier than she intended, but whatever, why not take advantage of her momentary anonymity?

“Why, my Lady! Your flattery knows no bounds! How did I ever win such high praise?”

“Alright, slow down there kitty cat, you can’t take all the credit. I am dressed entirely in red and black polka dots.” She put her hand out, further enforcing her mini rejection.

“Your cold words have no effect on the warm feeling your purrsence brings to my heart,” even he winced at his pun there.

“Oh god. That’s it. You ruined it. I’m leaving.” She turned quickly on one heel, feeling a little pride that she managed it in those heels.

“Seriously?” he asked, slouching forward.

“I’m kidding. But I do have to go. See you around,” she said over her shoulder.

When she got to the dressing room, Tikki was waiting for her. She helped undo the laces on the corset while she started talking.

“You know, after that performance, I’d be happy to have you come back for an extra 40 euro,” she said.

“I get more as the seamstress than a dancer?”

“More time, I’d only have you once or twice a week, for at most an hour.”

“Why only an hour?”

“You’ll see tomorrow. Have a good night, Mari. Let me know tomorrow.” Tikki left and let Mari finish changing in peace.

The next morning as Mari tried to drag herself to work, she fully understood what Tikki meant. It took three aspirin just to quell the ache in her feet and legs enough to even step foot in the coffee shop. She felt as though the bottom of her feet had been rubbed raw.

“Alright, so next time, we use Dr. Scholl’s,” she said.


	2. It's Raining Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hallelujah

 

Work was long and hard and not in a fun way.

Mari hated her job, it meant being “on” all the time. Every customer had to be greeted with the same smile, every drink had to be perfect, and there was absolutely no room for creativity in the job. It was just “do as you’re told and nothing else”. The sole redeeming feature was this particular Starbucks relative closeness to Gabriel. It was across the street.

And that meant that high level execs from Gabriel (well their assistants) would stop in daily and she could hear all the latest happenings in the Fashion world. She’d try and listen in, comment when it seemed appropriate.

She got through her shift mostly by fantasizing about the scenario in which she’d meet a designer or a model who spilled coffee on their project, or ripped their clothes, and she’d magically fix it and then they’d hire her on the spot. Or at the very least take her name and encourage her to apply.

But that’s not how her days went. For starters, those fantasies were wildly unrealistic. And secondly, being across from Gabriel headquarters meant that the Starbucks was located right in the middle of the business district. So you can imagine exactly how busy this location constantly was.

“Welcome to Starbucks! What can I get you for today?” she asked again and again. They were relatively short staffed this morning, so she was running between the register and the drink assembly. “Right, and what name?” It was really too hectic. Mari couldn’t find it in her to put faces to the names. She just marked the cups and kept going. There was too big of a back-up on the drinks, so she left her register and ran over to help get the drinks made. They really needed another set of hands. Steam the milk, add the flavor, pour the shot, pour the milk, add the whip, cover and yell. Steam the milk, add the flavor, pour the shot, pour the milk, add the whip, cover and yell. Rinse and repeat. Run back to register, move the line, go back to the bar, make the drinks. Don’t focus on the customer- not enough time- just keep to the rhythm.

It should be noted that this usually worked. Usually.

But Mari also usually was in bed by 10 when she was going to be opening the store. And she usually hadn’t danced for prolonged periods of time in 4 inch heels. She handed out a drink barely processing it, ready to make the next one. If it wasn’t for the incident that followed, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you the name she just called or the drink order.

Unfortunately….

“This is NOT what I ordered!” complained a voice that could only be described as bitchy. Mari didn’t even look up as she responded, juggling the next order.

“I’m very sorry about that, madame,” Mari finished cupping the next drink. “Black Americano for Adrien!” she called before focusing on the upset customer. “Now, what did you order?” she asked.

“I ordered a half-caf no whip skinny vanilla frappechino, double blended,” she responded. “This TRASH has WHIP CREAM AND is only single blended!” Her voice rose in volume and octave as she kept going.

Wow that voice sounded familiar.

“I’m very sorry madame, I’ll make you a new one right away,” Mari responded.

“I am NOT paying for this!” the customer declared.

“Of course not, madame, we’ll refund you the cost of the drink, and the replacement is on the house,” Mari didn’t relish the idea of eating the cost of the drink, but she also was used to this type. They came in every now and again and this wouldn’t be settled if she didn’t refund the cost. And she was at fault, she had messed up the order.

Little did she know that she was about to mess up something else, too.  

The first step was to refund the customer, that way they can’t accuse you of stealing. She had the customer follow her and opened up the record of purchases on the register. The customer already had her card out, willing to comply.

“Alright madame, what’s your name?”

And there it was.

Mari, when asking the question, also for the first time actually saw the customer, and the flash of pain in her eyes followed quickly by a flood of anger was all she needed to recognize who she was talking to.  

Chloe Bourgeois looked very different from how she did in high school. Her blonde hair was now cut into a tasteful professional pixie, her make-up was darker, achieving a mature pixie look, the red lipstick was definitely new. It also appeared as though she finally discovered that spray tans were tacky, and had dropped the slight orange tint for a paler complexion.

Mari felt her heart drop and a wave of panic-induced nausea flow up. She hadn’t seen Chloe since high school, and it was a little bit of an understatement to say that they had a complex relationship.

Hurricane Chloe tore through the restaurant, throwing all types of terrible accusations from seemingly all directions at Marinette.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO GET OUT OF MAKING MY DRINK? ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE ME FAT? DO YOU WANT ME TO LOOK LIKE YOU, YOU COW?”  And so on. Mari wanted to put her in her place, just like she used to. But her ability to fight back was restricted almost entirely by the fact that she was at work. She felt chained up by her apron in this moment, and ready to vomit and cry. Jesus Christ, was Chloe always this…? How much of high school did Mari repress? Like she knew it was a fair amount, and she also knew hindsight had skewed a lot, but this...

“Jesus Christ, why don’ you ever use your brain for once you sputtering-”

“ **That’s enough Chloe**!” A tall, very handsome young man interrupted. “She apologized for making a mistake on the order. What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked in complete disbelief.

“With me? NOTHING!” She turned and stalked out of the Starbucks, still holding the wrong drink and making a show out of throwing it in the trash.

“I’m very sorry about that, I don’t know what came over her, she’s usually not so…” he looked for the right word. Mari knew what the right word was, but she figured she’d be fired for saying it.

“It’s fine. Might just be a bad day for her,” she offered. The tall blonde man with the face of an angel smiled ever so slightly, still clearly embarrassed about his (girl?)friend. “Your girlfriend left her card,” Mari said, picking it up.

“Oh, she’s not. We’re not, we’re just friends,” he corrected.

“Uh-huh,” Mari said, adding back the cost of the drink to Chloe’s card.

“We grew up together, and she had business at Gabriel today and so we met for coffee, but,” he was clearly trying very hard to explain that he wasn’t dating her.

“I believe you,” she said, handing him Chloe’s card and receipt, “but can you make sure this gets back to her?” she asked.

“You refunded it? After all that?”

“Well yeah, it was my fault after all,” Mari said.

Clearly that was not the answer he was expecting.

“I’m Adrien,” he offered her his hand. She shook it.

“Marinette,” she answered.

* * *

6 hours later she finally got off work. And dear sweet Christ she was tired. Her feet were killing her, she couldn’t think straight, she needed a stiff drink and a night complaining with Alya. But Alya was off chasing a story in Cannes and wouldn’t be back until Monday. Besides, she still had homework to do and costumes to fix.

Alright, walk to the club, fix the costumes, maybe mooch a glass of wine or a cocktail off of her aunt, and then she could go home and study. Maybe an early bedtime if she did this right and actually get enough sleep before lecture tomorrow. It was a good plan. And it would have salvaged a so-far awful day if it weren’t for one major oversight.

It was raining and she was walking and Mari, in her exhaustion, didn’t bring an umbrella.

She stood under the awning of the Starbucks, staring at the rain, hoping that is would let up just enough for her to run the 100 yards to the metro station without getting completely soaked. Standing there, watching the downpour, all of the exhilaration from the night before was gone. She was tired and sore and her friend was out of town and for the first time in a very long time, she couldn’t find the silver lining in the cloud that was her current state.

“Ah, Marinette, right?” a warm, deep voice asked. She turned and saw the lovely young man from earlier.

“Can I help you… ah?” She couldn’t quite remember his name.

“Adrien, and it’s nothing. I was just coming from work and saw you standing here. Did you forget your umbrella?”

“Yeah, so I’m just waiting for it to lighten up a bit.”

“Here, take mine,” he said offering out his plain black umbrella. She hesitated and he added. “To make up for earlier.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Oh, I have a ride, so…” he said, motioning to the black town car behind him. “Really, I insist.” She nodded and took the umbrella from him. But when she grabbed it she must have hit a weird button or something because the damn thing closed right over her head. He tried not to, but Adrien burst out laughing in spite of himself.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” he said. And Mari looked at his smile and thought the damn sun had come out.

“N- no,” she stuttered. “fine, that’s. It’s, you’re. Shut-up,” she stuttered meekly, smiling despite her embarrassment.

“Monsieur Agreste, we have to go,” a very large man who could only be described as a gorilla called said from a few feet away, holding up his own umbrella for Adrien.

“Well that’s my cue, see you around Marinette,” Adrien said and leaved.

“Yes! See you, will I,” she half responded. He was gone and she stood there a moment. “What?” she asked no one. And then she realized what the gorilla had called him. _Agreste_ “What?” she asked one more time. And then she took off like a bat out of hell, only it wasn’t the club she was going to, nor was it her apartment, she ran to right to her parent’s old bakery.

They were surprised to see her, no doubt, and she called a greeting to them while she ran up to her old bedroom and dug around for her old pile of magazines.

Sure enough, she found was she was looking for, right there on an old cover of Fashion Weekly, was a much younger version of the man she met today. Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste, and the former face of the Gabriel brand. He had modelled all throughout his high school years. He had stopped modelling almost altogether when he started college, opting instead to go to college. The issue she held was his last major cover from before he retired. She flipped to the interview and read it.

* * *

 

“I loved modelling,” said the young man, “but I don’t feel like it is my calling. I still love the industry though, and would love to continue in it behind the scenes.” True to those words, it seems Adrien will be starting ESMOD in the fall, studying fashion business.

* * *

 

“Holy shit, we go to school together.”

 


	3. Home Sweet Corsets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mari makes decisions. Kinda.

 

Mari emerged from her room and met her father in the kitchen, smelling the heavenly sent of beef and wine and butter. She walked over and gave him a hug while he stirred the pot. She opened her mouth to guilt her father into letting her take some Tupperware when he interrupted her.

“I’ve joked before about it before, but somehow you always manage to come home on days I’m making boeuf bourguignon. Your aunt doesn’t believe me. So I called her to brag that my magic daughter summoning dish works.”

“You called Tikki?” She asked, though internally she was cheering for the free food.

“Yes, and she said for you to stay and eat and study. And that you can text her your answer, whatever that means.”

Mari panicked for a moment. Sure, her mom might let her dance on stage in a corset, but her father really didn’t need to know. Think, can’t think, butter, beef, wine…. Wine!

“They were shorthanded so I filled in as a bartender yesterday. Apparently I mix drinks well enough,” she shrugged and took a seat at the kitchen bar. “How long till it’s ready?”

“About an hour, so how about you tell me why you ran home in such a rush?” He asked, grabbing two glasses and pouring some wine for himself and his daughter.

“I met a supermodel at work today,” she answered.

“Really?”

“Yup, though technically he’s retired, so I wanted to make sure he was the same person from my old magazines.”

“Who is it?” Sabine asked, walking up.

“Adrien Agreste,” Mari said.

“Agreste? Isn’t that?” Tom asked while Sabine grabbed some wine and sat with her daughter as well.

“My favorite menswear designer,” she answered. 

“Well now that’s exciting!” Sabine declared. “Is he handsome?”

They kept talking all the way through dinner. Mari complained about her classes, and her work, and her sore feet and generally let herself unload. Her parents told her about the shop, filled her with good food, and did what they did best- put everything in perspective. And told her that she didn’t have to work so hard if she just lived at home again. She politely turned them down, reminding them that her roommate wouldn’t like it so much if she just stopped paying rent.

She didn’t tell them about the thing with Chloe, though. There was too much there that she didn’t feel comfortable sharing with her parents. She did mention a bitchy customer, and that sparked the conversation that she knew it would. And the only way to ever get the Dupain-Cheng’s to be caddy.

Customer Service horror stories.

“Remember the client that threw the cake on the ground because I wouldn’t give her a discount?”

“Or before we had the store, the customers that would eat half a dish, complain, and send it back?”

“And not pay?”

Little known fact of the service industry. We’ve all had the same experience.

Mari was happy she went home for dinner but…

“I do have classes in the morning. Thank you the food mom,” she hugged her mom and pecked her on the cheek. “Dad,” she did the same.

“Come home again soon, yeah. We miss our little girl.”

“I’ll come again soon,” she promised.

And then she made the trek back to her apartment, pleased that the rain had passed.

* * *

 

 

She looked for Adrien in her classes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she’d have some nice man-candy to ogle while she suffered through accounting. But alas, that was not to be, as she was taking first year business classes and Adrien was a fourth year.

Suddenly Marinette was regretting taking all of her design requirements and putting off her business ones. But there was always something more _interesting_. And now she was stuck with 4 business classes that she had to take if she was going to be able to do her senior design the next semester. And her roommate/partner was not going to let her get away with putting it off again.

Juleka was good like that. Sure, Mari had tried to room with Alya, only to learn that they should never, ever be roommates. They both tend to distract themselves with literally anything other than cleaning, so after they turned their apartment into an environmental hazard one summer, they decided never to live together again. Juleka on the other hand, was surprisingly strict when it came to cleaning. Everything had to be put away in its proper place and dishes needed to be cleaned within 24 hours of use. (The rule was originally 3 hours, but that proved to be an impossible feat.)

Besides keeping Marinette from living in filth, Juleka turned out to be the perfect design partner for Mari. Mari’s over-ambitious optimism needed the cool pessimistic realism that Juleka provided. She could offer the design critiques to make Mari’s designs feasible while Mari coaxed Juleka into trying more daring designs and products.

Honestly they were the dream team that no one saw coming. Which is why they wanted to do their senior line together, if only Mari could get her shit together. (As Juleka so lovingly put it)

But as it was, Mari was left alone in a class she hated, and she had, frankly, a fuck-ton of work to do that day. Taking Sunday off meant she had more work at the club in the early afternoon, then an evening shift at the Starbucks, and then most likely staying late at the coffee shop to do homework. The thought of taking the midnight train home didn’t seem too enticing, but the thought of you know, failing was even worse.

Tikki wasn’t in the club when Mari arrived. It wasn’t unusual, Tikki worked nights, so she tended to sleep and deal with personal responsibilities during the day. So Mari went back into the costume storage room. She stepped inside the big wooden room lined with rows and rows of obnoxious, sexy, and even some silly costumed. The lighting was dim, but warm. In the middle of the room was a big sewing table and an old 1920’s industrial sewing machine and serger, the good kinds, the kinds that sewed through leather and canvas and fingers if you weren’t careful. The kind that weren’t shiny, but dull and tarnished from years of steady use. The kind that didn’t make button holes or do zigzags or anything fancy like that, but still managed to always get the job done. Mari took a deep breath, _home_. Taped the sewing machine was a list of things that needed to be fixed –courtesy of Tikki- , along with a single question:

Will Dance Again? Yes No (circle one)

Mari looked at her sad state of stress and thought she wouldn’t have time. But looking at the shining red and black bejeweled corset she got to dance in just two days before.  (Which Tikki left suspiciously on the table) She let her fingers run across its surface. It really was incredibly tacky. So super tacky, she should be ashamed as a designer that she ever even touched it.

But dammit did she want to feel that way again. Sexy, confident, powerful, carefree. Sure she was sore the day after, but…

Fuck it. She needed it. If everything else in her life was stress and work and hard, this was going to be her time.

She circled yes.

And then she went back to the top of the paper and started working her way down.

* * *

 

“You sticking around Mari?” her boss asked.

“Yes, Marc. I have a lot of homework to finish and it’s easier to focus here than at home,” she explained.

“Well alright,” he said, “but make sure you are out before closing, you don’t want to walk home alone too late.” He also pushed her a large coffee and a coffee cake. She smiled and thanked him, but he shushed her and winked. Gratefully, she took the coffee and treat and retreated to a table in the corner of the café, thoroughly intent on doing all of her homework.

 

Right so one hour later she’s banging her head against the table and trying super hard to not let out a chain of aggressive swears where she works.

Marinette is a creative person. She is best when left alone to work herself to the bone on designs.

Accounting is devoid of all imagination and therefore the bane of her very existence.

“Are you ok?” a deep, lovely voice asked from behind her. She turned on a dime, whipping her head around to catch a glimpse at the face of an angel.

….Well, she was exaggerating and she knew it, but sometimes you need the exaggeration in life. Sometimes you need to fantasize that the man standing in front of you is in fact the Greek Hero (God? She wasn’t sure) Adonis.

“Oh hey, um Adrien. J-just you know, homework—Ah!” she exclaimed. He jumped, a little startled.

“What?” he asked.

“Your umbrella! Crap! I left it at home!”

“Oh that,” he broke out into a grin, “You don’t have to worry about that,” he chuckled.

“You sure, because I’d be happy to bring it …. Not today. I dunno, I work again Thursday.” She racked her brain, face turning up as she tried to decide whether or not she’d have time to stop by the bakery and pick it up before Thursday.

“Really it’s no big deal, I promise,” he glanced down at the work she was poured over, and took a deep breath. “Accounting, eh? Been there, if you want I have some free time and would be happy to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA you THOUGHT. You THOUGHT they'd be in class together.   
> Nah man. Nah.   
> Have some Cafe studying fun. Also next time! More club antics! And some conversations! And Adrien perspective.


	4. Operation Hot Barista Lights Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien's a giant dork with no friends

 

Adrien sat in on the design meeting and knew in that moment he was going to hate his life if he didn’t get his father to drag him out of the design department. He had great respect for them and what they did, and being raised in this industry meant that he did have somewhat of an eye, but the creative side -the basic trait you needed to be effective or helpful in design was something Adrien never had.

And that’s fine, there are countless other ways to be involved. Financial management, supply chain, production oversight, just to name a few. All fields he’d be remarkably more useful in. And sure, all new hires in the management program had to do a stint in every department, but it wasn’t like Gabriel brand wasn’t guilty of nepotism before.

He felt his phone buzz, and glanced down at it. A little notification bubble with Chloe’s profile picture popped up. He opened it and sighed.

(I swear to God Adrien, leave it alone.)

He was about to put his phone away when…

(Bitch I will end you)

(Leave. It. Alone.)

He didn’t doubt that Chloe could or would make good on her threat. But that wasn’t going to stop him from doing what he thought was right. So….

Come 6:30, when he was able to extract himself from the office, he went right over to the Starbucks across the street. He didn’t even know if Marinette would be in that day, but he hoped, anyway. And sure enough, she was there. Not working- well, not working for the coffee shop, but sitting in the corner at a table surrounded with papers, books, and a laptop. Her face was scrunched in frustration and it seemed as though it wasn’t going to be un-scrunched anytime soon. He ended up watching her for a moment, her over exaggerated expressions and actions were _highly_ amusing. She’d type something on her computer, sigh, and then look back at her textbook, scribble something down, erase something here and there, type something on her computer, and repeat. On the third cycle of this, she just groaned, loudly, and started slamming her head on the desk.

He had to take pity on her. He also had to take the opportunity.

“Are you ok?” he asked, walking up to her table. She whipped her head up from its place on her notebook, and he had to hold back a laugh. Her constant head banging on her notes had imprinted some pencil lead to her forehead.

“Oh hey, um, Adrien. J-just you know…” she gestured to the table and its contents. “homerwor---Ah!” she exclaimed, jumping up as she did. He stepped back, a little worried and very intrigued as to what was going to happen next.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“Your umbrella! Crap, I left it at home,” she admitted, deflating and trying to gesture her apology.

“Oh, that,” he had to chuckle. Recalling both her being trapped by it and her general animated demeanor. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He wasn’t kidding, he didn’t even pay for that umbrella. It was just one of the ones that lived in his town car. Gorilla picked him up another one almost immediately.

“You sure? I’d be happy to bring it….” She paused, considering. “Not today. I dunno, I work again on Thursday,” she scratched her head thinking. He was pleased with this response. Really pleased. Most girls would use the umbrella as an excuse to get his number or meet him again in a more casual way. Yet she was being careful to choose a location that was a) convenient for her and not bending over backwards for him, and b) completely neutral and most likely a place she’d see him again anyway. Treating the occasion as nothing special, and not an opportunity to start a rapport with a former supermodel and the heir-apparent for the Gabriel Brand.

It should also be known that he does know she goes to his school and is studying fashion design. He did in fact get Chloe to tell him this much. Which is what made him decide that he should ignore Chloe altogether and go forward with his little plan.

“Really it’s no big deal, I promise,” he assured her. Glancing down at her homework, he recognized the t-charts and journal entries that covered the paper. “Accounting, eh? Been there, if you want I have some free time and would be happy to help.”

She was floored.

“Are- are you serious?”

“Yeah… though, I can’t exactly offer my services for free,” he took a seat across from her, making it clear that he was going to stick around. To add to the effect, he even shed his jacket and set it next to him.

“What do you want?” she asked, looking at him warily, but not moving.

“What’s your history with Chloe?” he asked, smoothly. _The more information the better._ For a second she looked like a dear in the headlights. In fact, he was mildly sure he saw her pony tail fray some more as he asked the question. But then she took a breath, collected herself, and sat down.

“What has she told you?” she asked cooly.

“Not much, just that you went to school together,” _and that you were interested in fashion design, and that you go to my school. And that you are apparently the biggest goodie-goodie to walk the face of this earth (next to him, of course)._

“Have you asked her?” she kept her voice even.

“I have, but…” he started and she interrupted him.

“Then it’s not my place to say anything,” she said a bit too hastily. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll just figure this out on my own.”

He stared at her for a second. There was no way she didn’t want his help. He saw her struggle-bus her way through the homework for 15 minutes. She needed the help. She should be jumping up and down for the assistance. That, and she heard the name “Agreste” in association with him just the day before, so she had to know that even if he was incompetent, he was well connected to boot. She _should_ be spilling the whole story without a moment’s hesitation.

But she wasn’t. And that was fabulous.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so. Chloe is your friend, and if you want to know our relation to one another, then you should ask her. But if she hasn’t told you, she doesn’t want you to know, and I have to respect that,” she picked up her pencil and started working, to indicate that she was done with this conversation.

Chloe was right, she was a good person. And she was sacrificing possible help and connections for her. Aw man. If he wasn’t set on this before, he sure as hell was now.

_Operation Hook up Chloe and Hot Barista is a go._

He looked her up and down, trying to figure out a good way to go about this. Not knowing their past was going to make it harder, but he could manage. Besides, he knew Chloe well enough to know that she only ever gets that worked up when it comes to her love life. And if Marinette was an ex or was a terrible person she’d tell him. So there was a good chance it was just an unrequited love from high school. Mari carefully took a sip of her coffee, muttering random numbers to herself as she tried to make sense out of her homework. Adrien thought it would be a good idea to measure how well Mari knew Chloe.

“Alright, fine. I won’t ask. But you should know she said she’s sorry about yesterday,” he said, hoping to gauge her response.

She did a spit take in his face.

“She did WHAT?” Mari exclaimed. And then, noticing what she had done, turned beet red and started leaning across the table with a napkin to wipe his face. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that. Sorry. Sorry.”

He grabbed her wrists, gently, to stop her and took the napkins from her hands. He wiped off his face and completely missed her copious blushing. Or her looking down at the table now covered in spit-up coffee.

“No that one was all me. You must know Chloe well if you had that strong of a reaction,” he looked down at his baby blue polo and sighed, it also had coffee on it. “She is sorry though, even if she won’t admit it.”

He looked up to find that Marinette coming back to the table with a stack of napkins, pressing them down on her notes to try and save what she could. She hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

Right, so Operation Hot Barista wasn’t exactly going according to plan.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. That was my fault,” he helped her mop up the rest of the coffee. “I shouldn’t have said such an obvious lie. To make it up, let me help you with your homework.”

“But, I- your shirt,” she stammered.

“It’s fine. I mean, I have more. Besides, I like accounting.”

_Next step is befriending you and then hanging out with you and then “Oh look, Chloe joined us! Isn’t that the weirdest thing?” And then I get to be the best man at Chloe’s Lesbian Wedding™ and have the best best man speech ever._

It was really the small things in life that Adrien adored.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 Adrien lived for Friday and Saturday nights. Lived for them.

They were the nights he got to put on ridiculous cat themed costumes and dance on stage at one of the most popular nightclubs in Paris, Miraculous. He’d started dancing there about a year ago, with the blessing of one of the owners, Plagg.

Adrien was stressed about classes and living up to his father’s expectations and needed to cut loose and for once just be as ridiculous outside as he was in his head. Puns, flirting, hip thrusts, all of the stuff that he couldn’t do as the Perfect Son™ Adrien Agreste, he could do at Miraculous under the mask and guise of Chat Noir. And with the strobe lights and constant movement, no one was able to connect the two. It also helped that he stopped modelling a few years before, so there wasn’t nearly as much paparazzi as he used to deal with.

He showed up to his shift early, as per usual, and got dressed when he was sure there would be no one in the dressing room. He was surprised, when he arrived, that on the hanger with his name on it was a completely different costume than normal. It still had the skin tight leather top with an exaggerated zipper and bell, but the sleeves were torn out and replaced with forearm covers (also leather) and the pants were a baggy but heavy black canvas with zipper accents and a cargo feel to them. He was staring at it all, confused when Plagg walked in.

“Our costume mistress was tired of you ripping out the seams of your cat suit. So she took the initiative to redesign it,” Plagg said, walking up.

“But can I move in these pants? I mean you know I like to-”

“Break dance, yeah. I know. And she took that into account. Try ‘em on,” Plagg insisted on moving this along as quick as possible.

Adrien got dressed and was impressed on two levels. One, that the pants impeded his movements not-at-all, and two, that his ass still looked great in them, despite the looser design.

“Damn, Plagg. Where did you find this girl?”

“Your school, actually, well kinda. She’s my niece.”

“Your niece? Ladybug?” He asked recalling the panic to call in someone – a lovely someone- the week before.

“Ah, the other niece. They’re sisters,” Plagg said. His tone was odd, annoyed even, but Adrien didn’t question it. Plagg almost always sounded annoyed.

“Ladybug’s got a talented sister,” he said, admiring the work.

“Oh do I?” a familiar voice said. He turned around to see Ladybug sashaying up to him, fully dressed in her polka-dotted corset and stockings. She had elected to switch to booty shorts with what looked like red LEDs sewn on. He also noted that her heels weren’t quite so high as the last pair he saw her in, by at least 2 inches. She stopped when she got a little close, and blatantly checked him out, going so far as to lean around to look at his butt. She smiled. “It appears I must if she can make _your_ ass look good.”

“Oh how you wound me!” he overacted. “How my Lady must just, surely she wouldn’t _claw_ my heart out like this!”

“Stop flirting and go talk to your DJ since you are both here,” Plagg shooed them off and stalked over to the bar to make sure it didn’t set fire in his absence. They grinned at each other as they walked over to DJ.

“Stop flirting?” Ladybug asked.

“Never!” they both responded.

(You see, this kind of shit is what happens when two objectively gorgeous human beings with incredibly low self-confidence put on masks. They become insufferable.) Adrien was just upset that the low lights of the club made it harder to try and guess what was behind his partner’s mask- even if those same lights kept him anonymous.

Their DJ was one that he had danced with many times before. A young guy about his age named Nino who went by the Bubbler on stage. Upon seeing Ladybug he stopped and did a double take, but she gave him a look and he whatever he was going to say got held inside.

They chatted back and forth a bit, and Nino told them that he wanted them to hype the crowd as much as possible. Really get into it, and then to Ladybug specifically, “No sexy is too sexy.”

Chat felt jealous and he didn’t know why.

But she just brushed him off, so Adrien didn’t get the chance to analyze the emotion. Nino also told them to not be afraid of switching sides of the stage or dancing together. That he “wanted all the fine honeys out there to take home a man if they wanted, so set the mood on stage.”  

“Alright, Nino, whatever you say,” Ladybug said in a dry tone. And then to Adrien, “Do you want to switch sides every song?”

“Yeah, that sound purrfect.”

“And that sounds like the easiest cat pun in the world,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes.

“It’s a classic Ladybug, a classic,” he assured her.

When they took the stage, Ladybug took no time to get into it, unlike the week before. She bounced in with him, hyping up everyone as she went across stage to her spot. Adrien internally applauded himself for thinking of a good (read: awful) ladybug pun and let himself get into the groove. Bubblers stuff was always perfect, wonderfully produced pieces that made it almost impossible to not dance.

The Bubbler took no time let that base drop. And they were gone, focusing on nothing else other than the music and crowd and their performance. Relishing in the feeling of losing himself, forgetting about work, forgetting about his father, his future, his plan, Adrien just danced.

That is, until he saw exactly what the difference a couple inches did for Ladybug. With her new found stability, she was able to do some mild acrobatics in time with her yo-yo. Nothing too fancy, like the backflips and twists Chat Noir pulled off, but leg extensions and cart wheels and the like. Basically she was pulling out what he had to assume were basic gymnastics skills from her childhood.

He wanted to show-off, too. But the song changed. Which meant it was time to switch sides. And while he wanted to do layouts and the like to the other side, he thought it might be overboard with Ladybug just bouncing across. 

This way also meant that they could meet in the middle. The bass hadn’t come in yet, so they were just building. Slow, steady, getting higher, faster. They passed each other, but stayed close, near the middle, facing one another, their sides the audience, bodies moving in sync as the music built and built. She put a hand on his hip and he felt electric. He went to mirror her, but found a hand was already there. And then, before he really knew what was happening, they both lit up.

Quite literally.

And the bass dropped. She pushed him off and managed a back-hand spring to her side. He saw her build into it and joined in the fun, hoping they’d be at least relatively synced. He couldn’t believe he didn’t notice the little green LEDs that were sewn into his pants and sleeves. And he also wanted to hug whoever did it, because that girl was a fucking genius. Light-up acrobatic cat boys were just the definition of cool.

Second maybe only to light up yo-yo twirling bug women.

 Watching her move, remembering the feel of her hand on his hip, Adrien had never dances quite this hard before. He knew, just knew, he’d be sore in the morning.

But he had to impress her or die trying, dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so in this Universe, Adrien never went to school, so he doesn't know Nino or Mari or any of them. We'll get into that later. It also means his only friend is Chloe.   
> A very gay Chloe. (I love Chloe, she's just the worst)   
> And before you say anything. Yes. The only two who are going to not know their identities are our two main dumbasses.   
> YEAH!


	5. The Author May or May Not have a thing for butts and Chloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe is not the worst person ever, but she's still a bitch.

Chloe started her day as she always did, staring at herself in the mirror and going through and picking out all of her good points. "My eyes are big", let's add on some eyeliner to emphasize them. “My lips are full”, let's make them redder. “Oh look, it brings out my eyes more.” “My face has gotten rounder, but that's okay, my body is softer, but my skin is healthier. I don't need foundation today. My body is curvier, let's contrast those curves with straight lines. Perfect. You are beautiful Chloe. Drop dead gorgeous.” She said to herself as she gelled her bed head into submission.

“You can do this. You are smart, you are clever, you are beautiful _.” You are mean, you are petty, you don't deserve the life you live or the friends you have. Or should I say friend. Singular._

She shook her head, but the thoughts wouldn't leave.

_Did you really need to yell at her like that? Did you? She didn't recognize you? Big deal. You're worthless anyway. And after all the shit you did, she was probably happier for forgetting. All that you have is those looks. And even then you let yourself get fat._

She punched the wall, full force, hurting her hand but at least her mother's voice was no longer in her head. She really hated this part of herself. The part that still let her mother get to her. Such a fucking cliché. Bully was bullied at home. Also is gay.

She left her part of the suite and saw her father sitting in their joint kitchen, eating breakfast. "There's my wonderful daughter! Come, have breakfast with me! I didn't get to see you at all yesterday." She let her father's love wash over her. He really was a godsend. But she wasn't sure she was going to be able to sit and eat with him. She had work and something to do beforehand.

“I’m sorry papa, but-” her phone buzzed and she saw a single text from Adrien.

 

[I had two eggs and an apple, you?]

 

"Pass me a croissant, I can’t stay for breakfast, but we can have dinner tonight."

There were already Band-Aids on the table next to the croissants. Her father had probably heard the racket in the bathroom and texted Adrien. She plastered her hand sheepishly before grabbing the pastry and a pear. She was proud of her improvements and didn't like admitting how much she still needed to be cared for.

 

* * *

 

Adrien's favorite thing about Saturdays is that he doesn't have to be anywhere in the morning. He still wakes up early, partially out of habit, and partially because sleeping in actually stresses him out. But Saturdays are nice. He can chill in his apartment in his pajamas, maybe make a nice breakfast, possibly watch the news, clean a little, but mostly he can take his time and slowly drink his coffee.

So of course just as he was settling down at his desk with some eggs and his coffee to take a crack at his branding homework when his phone buzzed. He checked it and immediately felt himself tense up. He hated these texts.

[Adrien, I heard a bang in her bathroom.]

[Let me know if she refuses to eat.]

Adrien had known Chloe almost all his life. Her father and his mother were old friends from old money who had both isolated their respective families by marrying commoners. They found solace in each other as the years went on and more than once found that holidays were more bearable with both families present. However, there was one problem.

Claire Bourgeois.

Claire was a straight up gold digger. A gold digger who spent years mentally abusing and controlling her husband and daughter. She wrapped her husband around her finger with false compliments and well placed back-handed compliments. She made her daughter feel small, made sure that she was “pretty” and the she was “popular” and made sure she knew that she was pathetic.

It took years, a bruise, a screaming match, and a cancer ridden best friend, but eventually Andre found his spine and divorced his wife. And if being abused wasn’t enough, Chloe also got to live through the nightmare that was a high profile divorce and deeply contested custody battle.

[said no]

Adrien sighed and immediately scrawled a text out to Chloe.

[I had two eggs and an apple, you?]

 

He held his breath, staring at his phone until it pinged once more.

[She took a croissant]

 

He let himself breath again.

Yes, a very contested custody battle, that ended the moment Andre offered Claire half of his fortune. She stopped fighting almost immediately. He knew that was a head trip for her. One that was made worse when Adrien’s mom- who played the part of kind aunt and second mother- passed away.

 

No one got over that, Chloe found that anger was the only emotion that she could freely express, Adrien found that self-respect was unnecessary, Gabriel decided that the only way to honor his dead wife was to throw himself (and Adrien) into the brand that she helped him build, and Andre found himself without his best friend, and incapable of disciplining Chloe, or doing anything other than spoiling her.

 

And Chloe grew up into a right bitch as a result. He knew that a lot of her behavior was inexcusable. He’d seen her needlessly lash out and be cruel, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop her, much in the same way her father had. Especially when she still did things for him, like chasing away his crazed fans, and enrolling him in school against his father’s wishes (though that didn’t pan out), breaking him out his house for hang out sessions, and standing up to Gabriel. Chloe made have be a grade-A bitch, but dammit, she was a grade-A bitch who was on _his_ side. Always. So he bit his tongue and didn’t try hard to correct her behavior and flaws, missing her desperate cries for help. It also didn’t help that he wasn’t exactly in a healthy spot either.

                                               

Then high school happened. Specifically, some girl named Marinette happened. He never met her (until last week, anyway). But Chloe would go off about this girl who had the audacity to tell her she was wrong. He didn’t realize it at first, but at some point Chloe started talking about her more than anyone else – including Sabrina, including _herself_. It was a crush if he’d ever seen one. One that was confirmed (in his mind anyway) when she came out her senior year.

 

She never acted on it as far as he knew. Because for all of Chloe’s attitude, her self-esteem and worth were practically nonexistent. She’d push people away before they had a chance to reject her, but still wanted to be liked, loved. She hated her mother, but wanted her approval. Anyway, senior year was when he discovered her eating disorder.

 

And she discovered his.

 

And that was the last straw. He told Andre and he got her into therapy. She punched Gabriel, and got him and Adrien to actually talk to each other for the first time in since his mother passed.

 

Actually, that’s not how it happened. Chloe discovered Adrien’s anorexia first. And she was livid. So she got in her car and drove to the Gabriel headquarters and socked Gabriel in the face. Her screaming at him was a bit too personal, and that’s how Adrien found out she was also not eating. It was Gabriel who told Andre what she had said and what it meant. And it was _Gabriel_ who actually convinced her to see the therapist.

 

Adrien’s body image issues more or less subsided after he stopped modelling. And while he was still a “goody two shoes doormat”, as Chloe so lovingly told him, he entered a much better headspace after he and his father actually talked. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but it was at least existent and not entirely negative.

 

Chloe on the other hand, had a harder time. It didn’t help that she did have her father’s genetics, and gained weight easily. Phenomenally easy. Not that she was fat, by any stretch of the imagination. But when she started eating properly, her body type became what can only be described as “thick”. A round face, not cut by her jaw, breasts that appeared overnight and made buying bras markedly more difficult, flat stomachs became a fantasy (not that it wasn’t before), her ass was, well… and her thighs… let’s just say there was a slight period where Adrien had to constantly remind himself that she was gayer than San Francisco during Pride.

 

But the problem with looking more or less like a porn star in anything not custom tailored meant that she had new beasts to face. Over sexualization and lots of one night stands that didn’t fulfill her need for emotional support and intimacy, but god forbid she ever open up or try to pursue anything more serious. He rolled his eyes.

 

And then there was the way that she acted around Marinette, and the blushing, huffing, regretful mess that she became after that. And the way Mari had seemed to accept her. She hadn’t recognized Chloe (which was fair, Chloe looked widely different than high school) and didn’t even seem that mad at her. She… she seemed to just understand that Chloe was just Chloe.

 

And Chloe needed a real girlfriend.

 

And Adrien has long held the belief that no one is 100% straight (Kinsey Scale be damned).

 

So he was going to get them together. He was going to put them in a room together. He was going to dance at their wedding and be godfather to their kids. And maybe Ladybug would be godmother…

A smile crept across his face as he recalled his new favorite dance partner. She was… aww man. She was stunning, and funny! And confident, and clever if her wit was any indication.

 

And the way she moved her hips when she danced...

 

Adrien couldn’t wait to see her again.

 

Of course he couldn’t tell her who he was. He didn’t know her. But she was Plagg’s niece so she had to be trustworthy on some level, right?

 

But then again, she was _Plagg’s_ niece.

 

Goddammit, he needed to talk to someone about this. He brought out his phone, figuring he could kill two birds with one stone.

 

[Want to meet for lunch?]

 

* * *

* * *

 

Marinette could hear Chloe’s phone buzz as she stood there, stock still and staring at her.  Her face was strained, as if merely being in Mari’s presence pained her. That thought stung more than it should. And more than she wanted to admit. She willed herself to speak first.

 

“Welcome, can I get you anything, Chloe?” she asked, fully aware what Chloe’s reaction would be.

 

“How dare you! You know full well I’m not here for coffee! But a non-fat soy vanilla latte. But obviously I didn’t come all the way _here_ just for coffee!” To her credit, and to Mari’s surprise, she didn’t yell. But she was still obviously angry. But she still did exactly what Mari wanted, she stopped standing there staring.

 

“Well, what are you here for?” Mari asked, marking the cup and ringing up the order.

 

“What are you doing working here anyway? Don’t your parents hate the very idea of Starbucks?” Chloe asked.

 

“I’m working.”

 

“Yes but _why?”_

“Is that really any of your business?” Mari asked, a little annoyed.

 

“I just think it’s weird.”

 

“Well working would seem weird to you.”

 

“Oi. I do have a job, you know.”

 

“Uh-huh. Here’s your card, I need to make your drink,” Marinette moved over to the drink station, hoping that Chloe would take the hint and fall back. Chloe, however, never took hints, and followed her.

 

“A great job, you know. A hard job. I’m a clerk in a charity law office. We help poor people, like y-” Chloe stopped herself before she got carried away.

 

“Of course you’re going to be a lawyer.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You know what it means.”

 

“Look I came here to- to…”

 

“To what?” Mari stared her down, feeling the impact of her stare being lessened as she steamed Chloe’s soy milk. _Why does that sound dirty?_

 

“To –to warn you not to try anything with Adrien!” Chloe exclaimed.

 

“Excuse me?” What?

“Yeah. He’s one of my oldest friends and if you even so much as think as using him…”

 

“WHAT?” Mari didn’t mean to shout. But she did mean to slam Chloe’s drink down in front of her. “Are you really suggesting that _I_ would use people?” Her voice seethed. She really couldn’t believe what Chloe was accusing her of. Surely she knew her well enough?

 

“I don’t know how you changed in the last five years,” Chloe said, overly defensive- but of course, Mari missed this.

 

“Well, I’m still the same person I’ve always been, Chloe. Though it seems you’re still a colossal bitch, despite what Adrien said about you,” Mari couldn’t believe that Chloe’s freaking martyr complex still hadn’t gone away. How did Adrien put up with this?

 

“You two talked about me?”

 

“Only for the briefest of moments,” she said, dismissive.

 

“What is he doing talking to you about _me_?” She exclaimed. She knew Adrien wanted her to talk to Marinette, if his insistence over the past week was any indication. But he talked about her? To Mari?

 

“Trying to convince me that you were sorry for being a colossal bitch. Apparently he was mistaken.”

 

“Hey! That’s the second time you’ve called me a bitch!”

 

“Well, I would use another word, but I’m not sure my boss would let me.”

 

Chloe’s eyes flared and she fumed. Mari was ready for the onslaught of screaming that she knew was coming. But to shock, Chloe swallowed her anger and took a deep breath.

 

“I’d hate to turn Adrien into a liar,” she said, coolly. “I overreacted last time,” she said and then she turned and walked to the door. She stopped as she opened it and turned back around. “You shouldn’t have refunded the drink,” was all she said before she left. Mari was floored, having to take a solid two minutes to recover from the closest thing to an apology Chloe could possible muster.

 

_Apparently that simply delectable ass wasn’t the only that changed since high school._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K. So. I love Chloe. too damn much.   
> I don't think her Tragic Backstory™ excuses her actions, but like, no one is that awful with no reason. And don't get me wrong, she is and will remain a bitch. Just one with a heart of gold. Again, doesn't excuse anything, just creates perspective. Also Chloe and her Tragic Backstory™ is going to be hella relevant to this plot. 
> 
> Also yes, Mari is not straight. We all gay up in here. (except, oddly, one person)   
> Also Adrien and Mari both might be the least observant people in the world.   
> Also didn't meant to make a Chloe-centric chapter but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
